An Ode to Sweat

The smell of you is

warm toes wriggling in a

thick thick Roots sock under

a dense brown blanket my loving

mom force me to put on top of

my duvet, is an armpit that longs

for life liberty and the pursuit of happiness

and wants to take a breath, and

 

the sharpness

of the fluorescent yellow of a

tennis ball I’m running to

is the mark you leave on my

taste buds, do taste buds sweat?

you are sea water wrung out of

my walnut shell, but you

 

with your broadness and some salty

sacrifice, bring out the best of my

pores, and make me feel

like an ice-cream

basking in the sun,

full of content and very much alive.

 

 

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